New York Miracles
by Fan of the Bible
Summary: It's 1914. A certain Dawson man wakes up from a coma to find most of his life changed drastically: but why? JackxRose


**New York Miracles**

Jack Dawson was tired. That was all he could register. He was tired, though he had just woken up. He wondered where he was. What was going on? He tried to open his eyes and found that it took far more effort than he thought it should have. After a moment, he managed this chore and found a fuzzy imitation of a hospital room around him. He shook his head slightly and his vision cleared- yes, he was in a hospital. But why?

He wanted so badly to sit up, to go find somebody to answer his questions, but he couldn't really move. After some work, he could move both of his hands, but that took unimaginable concentration. What in the world was wrong with him?

At that moment, the door nearly straight ahead of him opened. A nurse walked in, mumbling to herself. She walked over to Jack and put a stethoscope to his chest. "Hmm…" She said, presumably thinking aloud. "His heartbeat is faster than normal." She looked at his face then fell back a step when she saw his eyes on her. "Mr. Dawson!" She said after she'd regained her voice. "We didn't think you'd ever wake up!"

He tried to speak and failed. All he managed was a strangled sound, so he tried again. "What happened?" He finally got out. His voice sounded scratchy from disuse.

"Don't you remember?" the nurse said. "You nearly died, but went into a coma instead."

"Why?" He tried again.

"Because of the water, of course."

"What water?"

Realization hit the nurse. "You don't remember any of it?" She sighed, not wanting to have to be the one to explain. "You were on the _Titanic_, Mr. Dawson."

The _Titanic._ Memories came flooding back. Winning the tickets, recuing Rose, teaching Rose to spit, partying with Rose, arguing with Rose, 'flying' with Rose, drawing Rose, what happened in the car with Rose… Everything he could remember revolved around her- Rose. He wondered where she was now. Then a scary thought hit him. Did she make it?

"I remember," he said sadly. He now wanted desperately to find out about her… his Rose. "Is there a list of survivors somewhere?"

"I don't know where I could find one now," the nurse said thoughtfully. "There hasn't been any lists out for a long time now."

"What's the date?" He asked, suddenly frowning.

"April 9th, 1914."

"What?" He yelped. At least, he tried to yelp. It came out more of a hoarse cry.

"You've been out for nearly two years, Mr. Dawson."

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They let him out of the hospital four days later when he'd regained his strength- a few days before the second anniversary of the _Titanic_ sinking. He was completely on his own with no help- he decided that the only thing he could do was to find a list of survivors. He didn't know what he would do if Rose wasn't alive… He didn't want to think about it. Also troubling him was the thought of what he would do if Rose _was_ alive. Would she still care for him at all? Would she be married by now, maybe to Cal, maybe to some faceless stranger? He could not know until he found a survivor list.

The only place he could think of was the local library, where they might have old newspapers. The first library he found did, in fact, have newspapers from April 15, 1912. He picked one up and flipped to the back section where the survivor's list was. The first person he looked for was, of course, Rose. There was a DeWitt Bukater- his heart skipped a beat when he saw the name, then fell again when he saw the name Ruth. Rose… was dead? He checked again. No Rose. How could that have happened? He was too numb to think about it.

Next he checked for his best friend, Fabrizio DeRossi. He was not there. Last on the list- Tommy Ryan. Dead- All of them. He sat down and put his head in his hands. Here he was, alone and penniless in New York. The woman he loved was now dead, his friends were now dead, and the last of his close family had died years ago. Why couldn't he just have died with them? His existence was pointless. He had nothing. He was nothing without them. Why continue?

Then, a sudden, wild hope hit him- was his name on this list? Sure enough, there was no Jack Dawson listed. Could it be possible that Rose, Fabrizio, and Tommy were overlooked or sick as he was? He closed his eyes and imagined this for a moment… Four people, friends from long ago, reunited after two years of separation in New York City. It was a glorious thought.

He finally opened his eyes again and looked back down at the paper in his hands. Something caught his eye. There was a Dawson on that list- Rose Dawson. He slouched back in his chair, his momentary hope dashed by thoughts of what he was sure would have been. Rose would've been his wife someday, had she survived. He knew that. She would've been Rose Dawson. She would've had the same name as the woman who survived, yet she herself did not. The tragedy of it all hurt to the point of desperation.

Needing to clear his head, Jack stood up, returning the old newspaper to its rack and heading out the door. He walked quickly but had no destination. He didn't know New York very well, so he wasn't surprised when he found himself in an area he'd never seen before, one with several squares, some including parks. His feet tread a rhythm on the sidewalk that matched his pounding headache.

He didn't look up until he ran into someone. He lifted his head, intending to apologize and move on. Sadly, that didn't happen.

She was a woman who appeared to be around his age, give or take a year. She had strikingly red, curly hair and she was holding a little girl. The little girl had a lighter shade of red hair then the woman, but it was just as curly.

She turned around when he hit her. He had been walking rather fast; his speed had caused her to stumble. She looked him in the eye and glared. His eyes filled with tears when she did so- this woman was so uncannily like Rose. His mind was looking for signs of her everywhere, he knew, but this was too far. This was too extreme, too soon to see someone who looked like her.

He fell to his knees, his head in his hands as the tears started to fall. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he glanced up to see the same woman. This time, though, her eyes were filled with concern and curiosity rather than annoyance. "Are you alright?" She asked.

Jack did his best to wipe the tears away but they had soaked into his beard- the one he had grown over his coma. He hadn't had the time or the resources to shave it off yet, or to cut his hair, which was now nearly to his shoulders. It embarrassed him slightly, but there was nothing to be done about it.

He looked at her for a moment, trying to decide how to answer. Finally, he shook his head 'no'.

"What happened?" She tried again to get a real answer out of him.

"You just… I just… Almost two years ago to the day, I lost someone and you look very much like her. I'm sorry to bother you."

"You're not bothering me," she assured him gently. She knelt down beside him and set the child down, too. "How did she die?" She asked, secretly hoping he would actually tell her. She needed to talk to someone… She hadn't had the best day.

Jack took a deep breath. "The ship we were on… it sank. It was the _Titanic_," he added, correctly interpreting her questioning look.

Sighing, the woman moved to a sitting position on the ground next to him. "I lost someone very close to me on that ship, too," she said quietly. "He froze to death, right before my eyes."

Jack looked at her with surprise. The last thing he expected was to run into another survivor. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment, unsure of exactly what to say.

"I'm Rose, by the way," she added, snapping herself out of her recollection.

Jack frowned. Rose? How could that possibly be? Then it hit him- he survived, but he wasn't on the list. He was pulled from the water as he slipped into a coma- had the same thing happened to her? She was wearing a simple dress and so was the child that he could only assume was hers, so he deduced that she had ended up third class. He looked so different now than he did two years ago, mainly because of the 

state of his hair and his beard. She hadn't recognized him, or not yet at least. He wondered what would happen if she did. She must have thought him dead, because she said she'd lost someone dear and everyone else close to her had made it out on life boats.

Through the jumble of thoughts, only one really sunk in- Rose was alive, and she had a child. She must've been married, and he couldn't just jump in and turn her life again. She was settled and her life was in order; he had no right to change that. Reappearing in her life was something he desperately wanted to do, but could not.

"I'm… Richard." He said a second later, using his middle name. "Richard White," he added, this time using his mother's maiden name.

"Pleasure," she said politely.

Through this minor exchange, a friendship was formed. As survivors, they had the need to stick together. It happened automatically, with little conscious thought.

They sat in that little park in New York City for nearly an hour before Rose's baby got sleepy and irritated and Rose apologized for needing to leave. They made tentative plans to meet again in the next few days and parted ways.

Jack watched Rose walk away, cursing his luck. There she was again, right before his eyes, and he was just sitting here, letting her leave. It was terrible, but it was something he had to do, like it or not.

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Jack spent most of the rest of the afternoon trying his best to find a place to stay. The best he could do was a cheap inn, located a few blocks away from the park. The next thing he did was find scissors and a razor and within the hour, he was back to looking like Jack Dawson. The next time he met Rose, he would come out and tell the truth- he _would_ be Jack Dawson, not Richard White.

Rose had told him that she wanted to meet with him the following day. He clutched the paper with her address on it tightly in his hand as he approached different people, asking for directions. Eventually, he managed to find it- it was blocks and blocks away but he figured that it would be well worth the walk.

Forty minutes later, he found himself in front of a very, very large house, if not a mansion. He was very confused, but it was the address that he had been sent to, so he approached the front door, hoping with all his might that this was where Rose lived. Luckily, there was no gate.

A maid came to the door.

"Can I help you, sir?" She asked.

"Yes," he said, wondering why people bothered to ask that question. "Is Miss Rose available?"

"I'll check," the maid said. "Please step inside." She walked away. A moment later, she came back. "May I get your name?" she asked.

"White," Jack said. "Richard White."

The maid disappeared behind a corner again.

The door closed behind him with a snap. While he was waiting, he put his hat and his jacket on, which were among the only belongings that he still had. He managed to hide most of his face, so when Rose came down, he could have been Richard White, he could have been Jack Dawson, or he could have been the President of the United States.

The sound of footsteps caused him to jump slightly.

"Richard? The maid said you were here." Rose's voice came floating down a set of stairs and she appeared soon after her words did.

"Actually," Jack started hesitantly. How would he tell her? "I need to tell you something about that."

"What?" Rose asked.

"My… my name isn't Richard White." He could almost hear her frowning.

"What is it, then?"

He took off his hat and looked up at her. "Jack Dawson."

Rose's eyes widened spectacularly. "What?" She managed before her knees buckled. She fell to the ground, her mouth open in shock. "_Jack_?"

"I know your life is settled and you probably don't want me here-" He started quickly, but Rose cut him off.

"But you're dead!" She exclaimed, letting out a hysterical laugh. "You can't be here! I'm going insane, this is not happening…" She looked up from the ground. "You've got to be kidding me! I watched you freeze to death, I watched you sink, there's no way you're here!"

"Let me explain," he said before she could get any more in.

She sighed. "Alright," she said, calming slightly.

"I fell asleep there, hanging off that door. You know that much. I fell unconscious, past sleep, I mean, right before the boats came back for us. That's when you let me go." He took a deep breath before continuing. "You were so cold, so desperate for them to come back that you didn't really watch me sink down for very long. My arm caught on a wooden chair and pulled me back up, just where my head was above the surface. Another boat came back after yours left and somebody up there noticed me barely breathing, so they pulled me in. By that time, though, I had water in my lungs. In order to save itself, my body fell into a coma. They managed to get the water out of my lungs, but I stayed in the coma. They found my name by the tag on my pants where I wrote it when I first bought them. I stayed in the coma for almost two years and I woke up on the ninth."

Rose stared at him, then closed her eyes and began to laugh. Once she started, it was hard to stop. She laughed until she cried and her sides hurt. Jack waited patiently, knowing the emotions that she was going through, as he went through the same ones when he figured out her true identity.

When she was breathing normally enough to look up at him, he looked her in the eye. "Your life, unlike mine, has evidently sorted itself out." He indicated to the fancy things surrounding him. "I made the decision yesterday not to reveal myself to you, but I couldn't. You made it too hard. But now that I've told you my story, I can leave and never come back. I won't destroy what you've spent the last few years building, so I'm going to walk out that door and never see you again. It was nice to meet with you again, Rose."

He had almost made it to the door when he found more he needed to say. His hand still on the doorknob, he turned around. "I love you, Rose."

He opened the door, walked out it, and closed it behind him. Rose sat there, still on the shiny floor where she'd fallen. She couldn't comprehend that. He was here, he was alive, and then he left. Wait- he was leaving!

She jumped up and scrambled toward the door. "Wait!" She yelled. Jack, who was nearly to the edge of the front yard, paused and turned around.

Rose ran toward him, grabbed his arm, and yanked him back. She tugged him back toward the door, muttering under her breath, "No, you don't!"

Jack couldn't help but smirk. This was the Rose he knew and loved. Rose pulled him inside and when they got to the sofa, she shoved him down. "Your turn to listen."

She began pacing in front of him. "I ended up alone in New York City after _Titanic_ sunk. I wondered around and ended up sitting in that very square, that very park that we sat at yesterday. I had about five thousand dollars in my pocket and the Heart of the Ocean, and I was carrying around something else that I didn't even know about." At his questioning look, she glared. "I'll explain later." She went on with her narrative. "Regardless, I'd never felt so rich yet so poor at the same time. I had my memories of you- that was better by far than money. What I didn't have was _you_." She closed her eyes for a moment. "A very nice woman approached me- her name was Molly Brown." Jack gasped. "She took me in, noticing that you weren't there. Maybe a week later, I started getting sick. Molly took me to the doctor and I found out that I was pregnant." Jack's eyes widened. What? "Molly took care of me all through my pregnancy and the birth and ever since then, I've lived with her. I've insisted, though, on dressing myself and my baby as we would've had we lived with you."

Jack closed his eyes and slumped against the back of the sofa he was sitting on. "Wow," he breathed.

At that moment, a brown-haired woman walked in, carrying the red-headed toddler. The woman was making faces at the little girl, making her giggle. "Molly?" Rose said.

"Oh, Rose, dear! I didn't even see you there."

Rose smiled softly. "Say, Molly, did you see what the cat dragged in?" Her smile turned into a fully fledged grin.

Molly was confused until Rose pointed over Molly's shoulder. She turned around and gasped at the young man sitting on her sofa. "Jack?"

"Nice to see you again, Molly!" Jack said once he regained his voice.

"Oh, Jack!" Molly said, laughing and hastening to hug him once she had set the girl down.

He smiled and hugged her back. Eventually, Molly pulled back holding him at arm's length and taking a good look. "You don't look a bit different, son!"

"And you're still just as beautiful as I remember, Molly!" Jack said.

Molly blushed and laughed, but returned to seriousness soon after. She turned to Rose. "Does he know?"

Rose looked hesitant. "I think he's gathered it," she whispered, mostly to herself. Molly nodded knowingly and left the room.

"So," Jack said softly. "She's…"

"Yes," Rose said gently. Her quiet voice calmed him slightly. "This is your- our- daughter, Josephine. Her birthday is January 23 and she's stubborn. She's a light sleeper and her favorite lullaby is the very song you sang to me on the bow of _Titanic_. Her eyes are identical to yours and I love to look at them, just like I love to look at yours. Her full name is Josephine Margaret Dawson-" Jack cut her off with a kiss. After a moment, she relaxed and kissed him back.

Unfortunately, the need for oxygen broke them apart. Once he caught his breath, Jack turned around. "So," he said, studying the child ahead of him. "This is our Josephine." He knelt down to get a closer look at the girl. He mostly saw Rose in her, but he saw bits and pieces of himself there, too. Her eyes were the same as his and that was the most noticeable similarity, but there were less obvious things. Her jaw had the same set as his, and her hands had the artist's shape to them. She would follow him that way some day, he was sure.

"Hey, there," he said, softly enough that only his newly found daughter could hear. "I guess I'm your daddy." Josephine did not understand what he was saying, but in a way that only a child can, she knew that this man was someone who loved her, even though she'd just met him. Her face broke out in a giant grin and she stumbled forward toward him, tripping over her own feet and landing in the arms of her father. He closed his eyes and embraced Josephine. When he finally opened them and looked up, Rose saw tears flying down his cheeks. He stood up, still holding Josephine and walked toward Rose.

"Thank you," he whispered to her. "Thank you for being there with me on _Titanic_, thank you for surviving, and thank you for Josephine."

Rose's face broke out into the biggest grin that she'd had in years and she ran forward, wrapping both this man she loved and their daughter in a hug. "You're welcome," she smiled. "I love you, Jack."

Jack kissed first the top of Rose's head, then the top of Josephine's. "I love you, too. Both of you."

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Watching from the doorway, Molly Brown smiled softly and wiped a tear from her eye. In front of her was the most deserving couple she'd ever met, and they certainly had the most beautiful daughter she'd ever seen.

She knew that she'd be there for them for as long as she would live. She'd be there to watch Josephine grow as a young lady and Rose and Jack grow as a couple.

Molly turned away, leaving the young family to their happiness. That was a happiness that would last them their lifetimes.

**A/N-**

Alright, I know the ending's kind of lame, but I couldn't think of any other way. This was just a totally random idea that I had the other day and I had to write it. So, a few hours later, I finished this and decided to post it. M.A.K., you already know it, but this one's for you!


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